Step One: We Need to Talk
by Sueg5123
Summary: "Haven't you been paying attention? Mackenzie's staff is confronting her right now about her misguided desire to shoulder all the blame for Operation Genoa."


_**Step One: We Need to Talk**_

**A/N**: _Title from the song by The Fray, you know the one. One shot AU post 2x07, in which Mac is confronted by an unhappy newsroom staff. Idea from Lilacmermaid, who once mused that while Will and the newsroom seemed to notice Mac's downward spiral, no one stepped up to do anything about it._

"Here she comes. Okay, everybody." Jim looked down at his notebook and, as if on cue, almost everyone else in the room did the same. Only Maggie watched as Mac entered with her folio and usual sheaf of folders and went to her place at the head of the conference table.

Mac looked around the room, noting faces not normally among the attendees of pitch meetings. Joey. Herb. Elliot. Don.

"This is a fuller house than usual," she acknowledged, already wondering why.

Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Um, well, there's a reason for that. Why don't you, um, sit down, Mac. We want to talk to you."

She cocked her head, her expression torn between annoyance and amusement. "We've got a show to produce tonight—there isn't time for this, Jim."

"Mac, please. Sit."

At the unexpected edge to Jim's voice, her mouth dropped open in surprise. After a beat or two, and seeing only tacit support for Jim in the faces around the table, she complied, finding a chair flanked by Maggie and Sloan.

"Mac, we're all here, all of us, because—well, because we're concerned about you."

oooo

Charlie had been sitting in Will's office, casually shooting the shit, for fifteen minutes before Will noticed the empty bullpen through the blinds of his glass-walled office. "Where is everybody?"

He walked to the door and pushed it open. "I'm getting the strangest sense of déjà vu. Where is everybody?"

Charlie joined him at the door. "Pitch meeting, I suppose."

"But, _everybody_? Jim said I shouldn't bother with this one, they were just going to iron out some technical issues on the election coverage." Will craned to look toward the conference room. It looked full of people. "That's a big meeting for just technical issues. Maybe I should poke my head in for a bit—"

"Nah, let them deal with the nuts and bolts." Charlie laid a hand on Will's forearm and pressed him back into the room. "Let me tell you what Rebecca said about Reese's decision to seize Dantana's computer."

oooo

Even though he was on foreign turf here in the News Night conference room, Elliot went first. He wasn't technically part of Mac's crew but he worked closely enough to recognize what was going on.

"Mac, I'd have to be blind not to see that you're putting yourself through something that shouldn't be. Genoa wasn't your fault—hell, it wasn't the fault of anyone here at this table—and you shouldn't take all the blame onto yourself. You may not be able to see what it's doing to you, but I can. You need to let this go—"

"What is this?" She rose. "Some kind of _intervention_? Because I can tell you—"

"Mac," Jim commanded in a voice an octave lower than usual. "_Sit_. We're going to go around the room and everyone's going to say what they think. You can speak at the end. Until then, this is one-way communication."

"I don't have time for this." She shook her head and made as if to leave.

Don went to the door and stood in front of it, arms crossed. "Make time, Mac," he said. "You really need to hear what we have to say."

Elliot shrugged. "I'm done."

Joey, to Elliot's right, cleared his throat and spoke next. "I'm sorry, Mac, but you're distracted and you're making mistakes in Control. You had me scrub the graphics on the House votes for Ryan's military funding bill and then last night you needed it."

"—_And_ the ten seconds of dead air," Herb interjected. "Dead air. No feed. That's the unforgivable sin of broadcast television. I know you didn't mean it, it was just a goof up," he added, extending an exculpatory afterthought. "But you're too good to make that kind of mistake. And it reflects on the whole team and the show."

Mac was thunderstruck at this precision strike. Nothing could grab and fix her like charges of unprofessionalism. "I certainly appreciate you letting it all out—" she began, the umbrage plain in her voice.

Kendra cleared her throat. "I hate to pile on, but you've been giving the interns instructions that are way, way beyond their abilities, and not following up to see the results. I stopped Jennifer from editing the Bradley Manning trial coverage to only include the transgender material."

"I'm going to interrupt for a minute," Jim said. "Mac, I want to make sure you know that this isn't a litany of workplace complaints. No one here is suggesting that you aren't a great EP for News Night. What we want to make clear is that if there have been lapses, or errors, we believe that they are all directly attributable to this mantle of guilt you've unfairly assumed as a result of Operation Genoa."

Neal was next in the rotation but he wouldn't look up, his discomfort was that great.

"Go ahead," Mac muttered grimly. "Convince me that the absence of evidence of an apex predator is a result of my blindness because of Genoa."

"Mac, you're here when I come in and you're here long after I leave. You don't leave your desk except for a rundown meeting or show time. Haven't seen you at Hang Chew's in weeks. This pace is going to kill you." He looked up and met her eyes. "I feel as if I'm watching a train wreck in slow motion."

With her short orange hair making her resemble a demented pixie, Maggie looked Mac squarely in the eye. "You think we don't notice. You think we don't notice that you're not here even when you are. You think we don't notice the thousand yard stare or this force field that you've suddenly put up so that you don't have to deal with your people, your messy people, who occasionally need someone to lead them." She dropped her eyes. "You think we don't notice," she repeated.

"These guys have swiped my material," Gary said, nodding at the others. "So I'll just ask, on general principle, when did food become a character flaw? My abs are the envy of the newsroom, but even I eat. And, Mac, you _don't_—apparently. I mean, I've brought you sandwiches—Tess has, Martin has—and Maggie has told me it all goes out with the janitor. Like Neal said, you never leave here, so it isn't as though you're eating off-site." He rolled his eyes. "I'm the wrong person to give parental lectures, but Fiji water is not a food group by itself. And, hey, that concentration camp look is so 20th century."

When Don's turn came, he spoke from where he stood, ostensibly still guarding the door from Mac's imminent and inopportune departure. "Mac, you are the most together person I know, and I've known you longer than anyone in this room. But you've let Dantana turn you into some wraith, some shadow of yourself. We all see it. It's even got you second guessing stories now.

"_Second guessing_—" she echoed, sarcastically, beginning a rebuttal.

"Yeah, second guessing." Don cut her off, his voice hard. "Jim told me you backed away from further coverage of the House hearings on Benghazi because you were concerned about appearing to indict the military for not responding during the embassy riot."

She shot Jim a look of surprise and betrayal.

Don continued. "You're too protective—of your anchor, of your staff. Even I have noticed you're parsing your words on DoD stories. You're pulling punches regarding content and you've got to stop, for the integrity of the show."

"Will hasn't complained," she offered.

"Will doesn't always notice the obvious until it hits him on the head. I was his EP for six weeks, so I can say that." Don leaned on the conference table with both hands and looked down its length to meet her stare. "It's _okay_ to be careful now. We _need_ to be careful. But don't allow Dantana's fuck up to give you a crisis of confidence. Recalibrate and get on with it."

oooo

"Charlie, I really think I ought to check into that meeting." Will inclined his head in the direction of the conference room. "Mac might need some help."

"Sit back down, Will." Charlie leaned forward and laid his elbows on the desk. "Mac isn't running that meeting. Jim is. And I told him I'd keep you here for the duration."

"You what?" Will rolled his eyes . "Is that meeting about me? Is that why you want to keep me here?"

Charlie reached out and caught Will's arm. "That meeting—that meeting is Mac's staff, trying to perform damage control. They're doing a little intervention—"

"Over Genoa? She's taken it too much to heart, but she'll come around. Election day next week, that's like red meat for an EP."

Charlie frowned in disbelief. "Maybe you _should_ be in that meeting! Obviously, Mac isn't the only one around here in denial."

"Denial?"

"Haven't you been paying attention? Mackenzie's staff is confronting her right now about her misguided desire to shoulder all the blame for Operation Genoa. They're telling her that she's gone from indefatigable to visibly exhausted. From slender to emaciated. From conscientious to one of the walking fucking wounded. They're telling her they're alarmed, they care, and that they insist that something be done. But mostly, they're trying to reassure her that _it wasn't her fault_."

"Of course, it wasn't her—" Will stopped. "I should have—"

"_Yes_," Charlie agreed, speaking in exaggerated italics for emphasis. "You _should_ have. I told her myself, but she blew me off. I thought it might finally resonate, coming from her staff."

oooo

Sloan went last. "I'm mad, Kenz. I'm mad at the, the—" She looked up.

"Hubris," Don provided.

"Thank you, _hubris_ that convinces you that you alone are accountable for Genoa, when all of us sat at this table and reviewed it, time and again. You're trying to absolve all of us at the expense of yourself. You were always the one who needed more convincing, who wanted further proof, who drove us to ask more questions. Had you not been here, we would have gone with the story earlier."

Sloan was just warming up. "Dantana came here with an agenda. Self-self-" She looked up again, flummoxed for a word.

"Self-aggrandisement?" Jim offered.

"That's it. –_Self-aggrandisement,_ at the expense of the truth. He didn't care about indicting the military for using chemical weapons. Remember, he accused Jim of _fetishizing_ the military. He had an axe to grind from the beginning. The story was enticing only because it was so awful, so godawful, so totally beyond our ken. Jerry Dantana sacrificed our credibility on the altar of his arrogance."

She leaned closer. "He muddied us all, Kenz. Not you more than the rest of us. The fact that you may feel it more—well, that speaks to your integrity, your sense of professional honor. That's exactly what we admire about you. But do not give in to the lie that this is your responsibility exclusively. We all participated in Genoa."

There was a long pause and Jim stood. "That's what been on our minds, Mac. And while I may not have known you as long as Don—" he cast a glance at where the other man leaned at the door, checking his watch, "there's no one here who knows you better. No one in this room," he hedged before continuing. "We all respect you enormously. We wanted you to know that we care, and that it has gotten—_painful_, watching this downward spiral, and not knowing what to do, how to pull you out of it. Fuck Dantana. You have a responsibility to yourself and to us that goes beyond stupid Genoa."

Mac looked utterly defeated.

Jim rubbed his palms together. "I promised you an opportunity to speak at the end. This is probably that moment."

"There's nothing—nothing I can—" She wrung her hands and swallowed. "Should I apologize to you all for dragging you down?"

"_Stop_. Stop taking all of the responsibility. Just listen to what we've said this morning and know that we want to help, not to hurt you, Mac. Whatever we can do, however we can make this easier for you. Just tell us." Jim squeezed his eyes closed and nodded. "Okay, people, back to work."

The staff members began to file out, several offering reassuring squeezes to her shoulder or small hopeful smiles. As the room emptied, Charlie and Will came in.

"Meeting over?" Charlie asked.

Jim sat on the edge of the table and Sloan hovered nearby. "Yeah."

Charlie took Mac's hands in his. "Sloan's going to take you to lunch. She's under strict orders to put a good meal into you. No salads." He wagged his finger. "And she's to pour a bottle of cabernet into you, forcibly if necessary. Then she's to take you back to your apartment for 24 hours of uninterrupted rest. No work. Leave your laptop here. I'll put you on your honor not to use your Blackberry for the rest of the day. Get some sleep, stare at the walls, or do some shopping on HSN, and we'll see you at the four o'clock rundown tomorrow. Is that clear, Mackenzie?"

"House arrest," she murmured glumly. "Will—" She looked to him, hoping for intercession.

"Do what Charlie says. Take a day off. We'll limp by tonight, and you'll be back tomorrow." He offered a sad smile. "If you're awake later, after the show, give me a call."

oooo

She waited a quarter hour after the end of the show before she called.

"Changed yet?"

"Just now," he said, slipping on shoes. "How are you feeling?"

"Banished."

"Okay if I swing by for a bit?"

She hesitated. "Is this part of Charlie's prescription? I slept a little after Sloan dropped me off, you know, so I'm awake for the next few hours, anyway."

He grabbed his jacket and turned out the lights in his office, phone still tucked under his chin. "This isn't Charlie, this is me. I'll see you in a half hour."

oooo

It was closer to an hour later when Will arrived with two brown paper sacks balanced on one arm. "Late supper?" he asked, unloading containers of food and placing them on the kitchen counter. "I stopped at the Greek restaurant around the corner. I would have been here sooner but I wanted to wait for fresh pita."

"This really isn't necessary—"

"Hey, I'm hungry. I've got souvlaki, hummus, pita and tzatziki, and that salad you used to like, with the olives and feta. And baklava for dessert," he said, separating a plastic container and displaying the contents. "Got anything to drink, Mac?"

She pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and poured two glasses.

"Thanks. Here try this," he said, handing her a souvlaki.

"Will—_stop_—"

He looked up.

"What is this about? I don't understand why you're here."

"Morale check. I've appointed myself Director of Morale. Mind if I try the salad?"

She put the food down. "Perhaps you should leave, Will. I've had a bad day. I'm not sure I want company."

"Mac, you're looking for someone to spar with." He shook his head. "I won't rise to the bait. Sit. Have something to eat. Start with dessert if you want to ."

She frowned and shook her head, aware she had no traction against his ridiculous mood. She tore a corner of pita and dipped it in the tzatziki, then chewed slowly.

"It may interest you to know I had a bad day, too," Will said. "Charlie held me captive in my office all morning while my staff engineered a mutiny against my EP."

"So you would have come to my rescue had you known?"

"Hell, no. I should've led the charge." He poured more wine. "_Seriously_. And I have to be serious because your welfare has gotten to be a _serious_ concern. You don't seem to be taking it seriously yourself."

"Christ, Will! Today, my staff told me that I'm borderline incompetent—disengaged—taking the professional low road—"

"Well, I wasn't there, of course. But I have it from an unimpeachable source that what they really said was that they were concerned for you. For your health. For your professional well-being. That's the team looking out for another member of the team." He helped himself to another forkful of salad. "They're a good team, and that's all your credit, Mac."

She shook her head again and averted her eyes.

He put down his fork and took her hand. "Mackenzie. Genoa isn't the end for us. If we have to leave News Night, we'll be going together. You won't be going anywhere alone. There are always options."

"Who's going to hire me? The most stupendous fuck up in modern journalism occurred under my watch. I'm radioactive. There isn't a news outlet in the western world—"

"You're being disingenuous, Mac. Your credentials are outstanding. Worst case scenario, and I mean _the_ _absolute worst case_, Genoa is a tiny blemish you'll make irrelevant in three months." He shrugged. "But if you're worried, take some time off. Let the dust settle. Travel. Write. Visit me in the federal pen." He offered a sardonic smile. "If the feds really come after ACN, instead of only Dantana, they'll be wanting my scalp. Mine and Leona's."

He took a deep drink of the wine. "C'mon," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa in the dimly lit other room. He placed his hands on her shoulders and she pulled back in surprise. "Whoa. Just relax. I thought a little rub…" He began to massage her shoulders and neck.

"_Will, what is going on?" _Her voice was a low cry and she was grateful for the dim light, relieved he couldn't see the emotion on her face.

"I want to make you feel better, that's all." He pulled his hands away. "Okay, flippancy aside now. I'm sorry, Mac. Sorry I didn't see it sooner. But now that I know—I can't let you carry this alone. You don't share anything, you want to keep this hurt all so private and personal. Mac, the truth is, _you never let us down because of Genoa. But you might be letting us down because of the way you're _taking_ Genoa._ "

"And you're here with a shoulder to cry on, is that it, Billy? Because, you know, you come with other associations and it becomes hard for me to separate them. I'm painfully aware that I've now ruined your professional life, which, let's face it, you take more seriously than your private one—"

"I'll put the food away," he said abruptly, rising and going back to the kitchen. He began to clear the counter, putting leftovers in the fridge.

After a few minutes of silence, she finally moved closer, watching him.

He finished and braced his hands against the sink, looking down. "I came here tonight because I would do anything, _anything_, right now to lessen your burden. I certainly know I've contributed to it." He turned and faced her, and the pitch of his voiced changed slightly. "And if you're even contemplating letting go of the raft, I want to make sure you remember my fuck up after Brenner's article."

"_Billy_." Her eyes burned and she had to force her own voice not to break. "I wouldn't hurt myself. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

His answer, oblique, confirmed her assumption. "I'm just saying I finally recognize despair. I've seen it in a mirror. And you _are_ hurting yourself—and, by extension, me and everyone around you." He sighed. "You need sleep and I need to go. I'm sorry for this, I didn't mean to—"

"Please." She took his hand. "Please sit with me a little longer, Billy."


End file.
